“Any luck?”
“None.”
“What about farming?”
“I dabble in it, but I’m much better at growing a business than working the land. My cousins can grow just about anything they want in those fields, as long as their crop likes our weather.”
At the end of the meal, he opened his briefcase and pulled out a clipboard, all official-like, with the confidentiality forms. “You want to read through these before we leave?”
She found no surprises in his paperwork. Just like he’d explained, she was signing away her freedom to talk about what she saw at the house or write about it without permission from the estate. Which was fine. All she wanted now was the truth about Olivia and the ghosts of Haven House.
A mound of flowers rested on the passenger seat of Finn’s Jeep, and he relocated them to the back before she climbed inside.
“Are you moonlighting as a florist?” she asked, smelling the roses and gardenias as they drove toward the bridge.
“You’ll see.”
This man had begun to shape into more of a puzzle than a pest. Perhaps she just needed to fit together the remaining pieces.
When they reached the parking area below Haven House, he pressed a button and the old gate opened. The historic residence, built of blue-hued fieldstone, crowned the hill, and she admired the craftsmanship again as he parked by the porch. The perfect mix of elegant and rustic in its many square feet. Almost like it had been swept off the pages of a Via Belle story, protected now by trees and the keeper of the gate.
Finn unlocked the front door, and she stepped into a house that swept her back at least sixty years. The hardwood floors, worn from use, were partially covered by an Oriental runner that trailed into a sage-green dining room. To her right, above a row of coat pegs, was a staircase rail, and a brick fireplace lay beyond the steps in what looked like a parlor.
“What would you like to see?” he asked.
“Everything!”
He led her into the parlor with a baby grand, lace curtains, and a formal couch hedged between matching chairs. Near the fireplace was a desk with a reading lamp and typewriter and beside it—
“Is that a carousel horse?”
He grinned. “No one knows where it came from.”
“Fascinating. It’s like you haven’t changed a thing since she lived here.” Harper studied his face. “Like you’re still waiting for her to come home.”
“You want to see the turret?”
“Of course.” The floor creaked above them, startling her. “Is someone upstairs?”
“Two of the rooms are occupied.”
Her eyes traveled up to the crown molding before she looked back at her host. “Who’s living here, Finn?”
“That’s a bit of a story.”
“Good thing I like stories.”
“That’s why I brought you here,” he said. “Would you like to sit?”
“Do I need to?”
“It’s up to you.” He settled on the hearth. “I’ll just give you the highlights.”
“Don’t cut corners for me.” She opted for the sofa as he leaned against the bricks, his legs outstretched. She could almost see him puffing on a pipe, traveling back decades in his head.
“When my grandfather was the principal in Catawba, there was a high school student who needed a place to stay. Haven House was vacantat the time, and my grandfather was responsible for the property. Looters had wrecked a few rooms, but it didn’t take my grandparents long to put them back in order. Gram helped the girl resettle, and they stayed with her until her father went to jail. Eventually, she married my uncle.”
“That’s amazing.”
